


Hand in Unlovable Hand

by MireilleBlue



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Child Abuse, Fire Nation Politics (Avatar), Fire Nation Royal Family, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, strictly gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25000414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MireilleBlue/pseuds/MireilleBlue
Summary: Executions in the Fire Nation were a grand affair.Post-canon.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 99





	1. Fall of the Phoenix King

Executions in the Fire Nation were a grand affair. Long ago, before Sozin had ushered in the war, they had been more humble, consisting only of a sturdy rope and bucket in some prison cellar. But with the hundred-year war had come traitorous generals, disloyal peasants, and other malefactors that needed to be punished in spectacular ways. Disloyalty, insubordination, and dishonorable behavior were not tolerated in the Fire Nation, and as the years went on, these crimes were redressed in increasingly theatrical fashion.

On Azula’s seventh birthday, she had watched a man burn alive. The day had been hot and dry, and the meadow outside the city limits provided no shade. Azula and Zuko had sat on wooden chairs at the edge of the grass, and servants with fans had provided a much-needed breeze. After a long and dull speech, Ozai had let the lightning spark from his fingertips, stalking towards a pyre piled high with bundles of chaff. An emaciated man, dressed in gray rags, was trussed with ropes and sat very still at the top of the pyre. His mouth was stubbornly shut, but Azula recognized the hungry glint in his eyes.

His name was General Gu, and he’d been one of her father’s longest-serving advisors. When he’d disappeared from Ozai’s trusted counsel, Azula had assumed that he’d turn up dead sooner or later. Her father was a power second only to Agni himself, and if a person wanted to live, well – they’d best please Ozai.

Zuko was already sniffling somewhere behind her, but Azula stood up, cupping a hand over her eyes. Ozai flicked a trail of sparks from his fingers, and the pyre ignited. General Gu whined in the back of his throat like a wounded animal, but he didn’t cry out. Still, even from the edge of the meadow Azula could see the bulging muscles in his jaw.

His skin was falling off in flakes, and there was a foul smoke in the air. She thought she could hear his flesh sizzle. Azula simply inclined her head in fascination, but a large pair of hands clamped over her eyes, while another pressed down on her shoulders so she would sit.

“Sit down, Princess,” Li instructed quietly, easing up the pressure on Azula’s shoulders.

Lo kept her fingers over the child’s eyes.

“Take your hands away,” Azula grumbled.

“I’m afraid I cannot. Your mother doesn’t want you to witness this.”

“What about Zuzu?” Azula kicked her feet with a petulant frown.

“Your mother is covering his eyes, too.”

Good. The fact that Zuzu couldn’t see, either, made it a little more bearable.

There was a crackle of kindling, and the crowd roared. Azula felt the old sisters bundle her out of her chair and towards the waiting palanquin. As she pushed the layers of velvet aside and took her seat, the shouts faded into the background, but Azula could still smell burning flesh.

* * *

Azula hadn’t been surprised when she learned her father was to be executed. Little Zuzu had grown a backbone in his years of exile, and she was almost proud of his cold pragmatism. Even in prison, one could keep up with the news by greasing a few palms, and Azula had resources. Still, she hadn’t expected Zuko to call on her personally to deliver the news.

He’d turned up outside the frost-rimed door of her cell, and she’d recognized the tip-tap cadence of his gait. The cell contained nothing but a bucket and rough pallet, and the walls and floor were coated in a thin layer of ice. The conditions were meant to hamper her ability to firebend – if she didn’t direct her energy inwards, she’d freeze to death within an hour. Of course, this also meant she couldn’t sleep, as generating heat required active concentration.

The worst of her hallucinations had disappeared following Sozin’s comet, but sleep deprivation was dulling her usually impeccable intellect, and she didn’t want to face Zuko in this state. Still, she smoothed her hair and folded her legs into the lotus position, arranging her face into a mask of calm control.

Zuko burst through the door. “Agni, it’s cold in here,” he remarked, rubbing his hands along his arms and shutting the door behind him.

Azula raised one eyebrow. “So, little Zuzu has finally come to call. How intriguing.”

Zuko waved her off. “I don’t have time for this, Azula. “

She held up her palms. “Well, why did you come?”

“Ozai is to be executed. Tomorrow.”

It was not lost on Azula that Zuko hadn’t called him father. “Your decision?” she asked blandly.

“Yes. I was against it, but there is strong public pressure. The law applies to everyone, even the royal family.”

Azula simply blinked. There was a time when she, as a child, wanted nothing more than to please Ozai. But her loyalty had limits, and now that he was a fallen man, she cared nothing for him. Still, those last words set off fireworks of alarm in her head.

“Are you going to kill me, too?”

Zuko looked uneasy, then pained. “It has been under discussion.”

A small shiver of fear passed, but she ignored it completely. “You don’t have it in you, Zuko.”

“You’ve tried to kill _me_ too many times to count.”

She gave him a hard look. “Do you remember the execution of General Gu? How we could smell his flesh cooking for days after the event?”

The skin around his good eye tightened. She saw that he did.

“Good.” She smiled. “You see my point.”

Zuko looked at her with wary eyes. “I have other demands on my time. Good day, Azula.”

He slunk through the door, no doubt wondering how Azula had managed to intimidate him when she was the one in chains. And his threat against her life? She filed it away in her mind for consideration, but she was not cowed. There were a thousand ways to manipulate the situation, and Azula wouldn’t worry until she’d exhausted all of them. Pulling her knees to her chest, she exhaled a chilly breath and listened to the patter of Zuko’s footsteps retreating.

Pathetic.

* * *

Zuko had never had the stomach for bloodletting. Azula remembered their first duel in the stadium. Azula had been six, Zuko eight. She remembered the glow of pride when Ozai had summoned her, and the clouds of dust that rose around her tiny feet as she walked through the gates. A light sword was strapped to her belt, and she remembered to walk confidently, shoulders thrown back, posture straight and perfect. Little Zuko was much less impressive, lying curled in the dust, dirty fists rubbing his reddened eyes.

“Your sister has arrived, Prince Zuko. Take your feet at once.” Ozai’s voice was cold and dangerous, and the boy obeyed immediately.

Azula dropped into a low bow, the smile visible in her eyes. “Am I to spar with Zuzu, father?”

Zuko opened his mouth to object to the nickname, but Ozai snapped his fingers. “Yes, in a way. Opening stance.” He snapped his fingers again, and Azula drew her weapon, knowing better than to ask him to explain. Holding the sword up hurt her arms, but she didn’t complain.

Fresh tears bloomed in Zuko’s eyes as he lifted his own weapon. “Please don’t make me do this, father,” he said haltingly. “She’s only six—I could hurt her – I—”

“Compose yourself, child!”

At the words, Zuko finally sprang into action, swinging his blade towards hers. Azula grinned as she managed to block the first blow, even as the force of the swing sent her tumbling to the ground. But Zuko was far stronger than she, and he kicked the sword out of her hand, flipping her over and twisting her arms behind her back. She thrashed and tugged her arms away, and he immediately loosened his grip.

“What did I tell you, father? She--”

“You have a sword – use it!”

Azula’s face was pressed to the ground, but the tone in her father’s voice made her struggle harder.

Zuko was sobbing again, a blubbering mess. “No, I won’t hurt her.”

“You defy an order from me?” The Fire Lord roared.

“You don’t understand, I – I can’t.”

“Can’t?” She heard a slap, then a thump as her brother went down. Azula took the opportunity to stand up and retrieve her weapon. Zuko was curled on the floor of the arena, wiping blood from his nose.

The Fire Lord’s attention went to Azula. “Perhaps you can do what your brother could not?”

Azula nodded, a little smug, and brushed the dust from her tunic. “Yes, father.”

“…Your enemy is weak, he is beaten. Do not waste the opportunity to draw blood.”

Azula’s stomach hurt, like the time she’d eaten horseberries from the bush by the pond. If she were Zuko, she’d sit down and cry, weak and pathetic. Instead, she ignored the hurt and charged.

Zuko didn’t resist as the sword swept across his shoulders, leaving a red seam on the back of his robes. Azula glanced at her father, who wore a ferocious grin.

“Well done, my daughter. You are dismissed.”

Azula knelt briefly and left, a little disappointed to be dismissed so quickly. Still, her father’s approval made her heart swell, as much as the crust of dried blood on her sword. She was a soldier now, and her father was proud of her. He would never treat her like Zuko.

That thought made it easy to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach.

* * *

Azula awoke to the smell of ash. Smoothing her hair with cold-stiffened fingers, she cursed herself for her lack of discipline. Sleep was dangerous in excessively cold weather; she’d seen enough footsoldiers freeze in the Earth Kingdom winter to understand that. Her skin was grayish and waxy, and her bare feet had no feeling in them at all. The air usually smelled of ice and iron, but something hot and rancid lingered in the air.

She recognized the odor immediately.

Today was the day that Ozai would burn. She wasn’t far-gone enough to imagine she could smell the conflagration from inside the prison walls, but the smell sent a peculiar feeling coursing up her spine.

Ozai was nothing to her, worth no more than the frozen dirt beneath her feet. She was almost curious enough to ask for special dispensation to leave the prison, though. Would her father struggle and bellow as they led him to the pyre? Would he weep and grovel like a feeble old man? Azula would almost prefer the latter. For all the times he’d treated her like a spider-maggot, like some small and squirming thing to crush beneath his feet, she thought she’d like to see him squirm a bit, too.

Warmed by the thought, Azula was grinning to herself when Zuko arrived. As he barged through the door, topknot already falling to pieces, she folded her hands composedly.

“A bit early for a visit, don’t you think, Zuzu?”

He said nothing in response, only dragged a stool through the door and sat awkwardly. She noticed that he was heavily bundled against the cold.

“Azula--”

“—Zuko,” she countered coolly.

“I--” He ran a hand over his scalp, and his hair came tumbling down. “Ozai will be executed today.”

“I expected as much.”

“I thought you said I _don’t have the stomach for it_?”

She smiled broadly. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?”

He nodded warily.

“The truth is, Zuzu, when I woke up today, I looked at my legs…” She stretched them forward, drawing his attention to the dark patches of frostbite. “…you did that. Not directly of course – I have the spirits-forsaken cold to thank for the wounds – but you put me here. Your own sister.”

An expression of horror was moving over his face, but she waved him off. “Oh, don’t feel bad, Zuzu. I’m actually rather proud of you. You are Ozai’s son after all.”

“I’m not!” His brow furrowed, and he sprang up from his seat. “Azula, I’m sorry--”

“—I don’t believe you.” She tucked her legs beneath her again. “You can pretend all you want, but we are cut from the same cloth.”

His mouth dropped open, and he shrugged off his heavy coat, tugging his arms free from the sleeves.

“What are you doing?”

He approached her. She was chained down and half-frozen, but she was still surprised he had the guts.

His teeth ground together, but his voice was soft. “You are wrong about that.”

Swinging his arms around, he wrapped the coat around her shoulders. She jerked away from his touch.

He curled his bare arms around himself, backing towards the door with that stupid, half-undone ponytail hanging in his eyes.

“Stay warm, ‘Zula,” he said softly. Then the heavy door slammed shut, and he was gone.


	2. A Tree Born Crooked

Azula was losing track of time.

The days melted into one another, a long, sleepless blur. At first, she’d marked the passage of time by listening to the shift changes of the guards. Four shift changes meant a day had passed, and she scratched at the ice on the wall with her fingernails. But after a week, she’d lost interest in her improvised calendar, preferring to stay curled up under Zuko’s coat.

The hallucinations were coming more frequently now, and squeezing her eyes shut or commanding them to leave did no good. First it was Ozai, glowering down at her with black and crackling skin. Then it was her mother, floating in the corner with a serpent’s smile, long robes dragging the ground. Azula tried to summon waves of fire, but she only managed a pitiful spark. After screaming herself hoarse, she’d pulled the coat over her head and tried to ignore them.

Now, she could hear the shuffle of boots in the hall as the guards made their rounds. Lying on her back, Azula draped the coat over herself, breathing deeply. Little light filtered through the heavy lining, and the fabric was rough against her cheek. She needed to think. Escaping this place wouldn’t be easy, but she couldn’t very well wait around until she lost her wits from sleep deprivation. Her window of opportunity was narrowing.

She considered simply melting the bars of her cell and escaping into the corridor. But that process would take several hours of concentrated bending, and she couldn’t warm herself at the same time. She thought about jumping the guard when he delivered her daily porridge, but her chains limited her range of movement, and melting them would be nearly as arduous as liquifying the bars. That left her final idea.

She’d been to the prison infirmary the day of her arrival, when she’d still been in a daze from her defeat in the Agni Kai. Before they’d sedated her, she remembered glimpsing a small, unbarred window near the ceiling. She’d set about reconstructing the floor plan, and she was certain the window looked out on a patch of woods behind the prison. It was a three-story drop to the ground, but broken bones would be a small price to pay for success.

She’d have to feign a convincing injury, but Azula had always been a good liar.

* * *

It was a hot day in the royal gardens, and the sky was cloudless and faded blue. The grass was warm under Azula’s bare feet as she ran ahead of Zuko, proudly clutching the loaf of bread they’d pinched from the kitchens. The turtleduck pond was just ahead, shaded by a line of overhanging trees. Azula rushed over the tile pathway surrounding the water, and she heard Zuzu whine as his feet touched the hot ceramic. She ignored him with a sniff, sliding through the mud to the edge of the pond.

The turtleducks hid in the marsh-grass at the far side of the pond, quacking softly. Azula grinned, sighting her target, and tore off a chunk of bread. As Zuko picked his way carefully down the embankment, Azula lobbed the food towards the turtleducks, clapping her hands as they swam off in a flurry of feathers. She liked tossing things at them and seeing how they’d react. Usually, they did exactly what she expected, scattering and squawking as if the little piece of bread were a rock. They were so dumb, those turtleducks.

Zuko snatched the bread from her. She pouted.

“That bread is mine, Zuzu. Get your own.”

He held it above her head, squishing his eyebrows together so they made a line. Azula stomped her foot.

“I _said_ to give it! I’ll tell--”

Zuko dropped his arm, and she snatched it back triumphantly. Ripping off another piece, she pulled her arm back.

Zuko grabbed her elbow. “’Zula, wait.”

“What?” She snatched her arm away, scanning the pond for the fleeing turtleducks.

“You shouldn’t throw bread at them,” he said quietly. “It’s mean.”

“So?” Azula kicked at the mud, squeezing the bread in her hand.

“So – it could hurt them. What if they get hurt and you can’t come to see them anymore? How would you feel?”

“Father would order us new ones.”

“Maybe.” He breathed a long sigh. “But hurting small things that can’t fight back is cowardly. It…it…”

Zuko broke off into a stutter, as Azula pushed him away. “I wasn’t going to _hurt_ them, stupid. I just wanted to see what they would do.”

He gave up on his previous sentence as his eyes lit with an idea. “Well, I see why the turtleducks like me more than you!”

“They do _not_!” Azula insisted with a stomp.

“Do, too! See, I’ll show you…”

Zuko swiped the bread from her hands and tore off a piece. Kneeling in the mud, he extended his arm over the water. Within a second, the turtleducks bobbed towards him. The largest one ventured close to his hand, pecking at the treat.

He smiled softly. “See, ‘Zula? They trust me.”

Azula felt a scared, itchy feeling behind her ribs. With a growl, she snatched the bread out of his hand and threw it in the pond.

* * *

It was now or never. The guard had just passed her door, and by Azula’s estimation, she had a quarter-hour until he returned. She had twisted around in her chains, pushing back against the wall to give her arms a wider range of motion. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the hazy shape of her father, crumpled and blistered near the door. She shook her head and the hallucination dissipated, leaving only bare and icy stone.

Lifting her hand, Azula centered her chi and pressed her middle finger to her pointer. A slight glow emanated from her skin, and she waited until tendrils of blue fire sprung from her fingertips. She gritted her teeth.

_Don’t you dare hesitate_ , she admonished herself harshly. Her inner voice sounded remarkably like her father.

Moving her fingers over her opposite forearm, she pressed down.

* * *

As the guards dragged her down the hall towards the infirmary, Azula filled out her mental checklist. Step one – the injury – was complete. She’d given herself a moderate burn to the forearm, serious enough to warrant treatment but not to impede her escape. The guards had noticed the smell of burning flesh and bundled her into the hallway, tightly gripping her shoulders. Even though she was injured and in chains, they clearly saw Azula as a threat.

The hallway was considerably warmer than her cell, and she glanced into the neighboring rooms as she passed. All were empty, and Azula wondered wryly if she’d been given her own wing. She’d known from the beginning that she was somewhere in the Colonies, but she’d managed to eliminate the larger and better-known prisons. She’d been to the Boiling Rock, and she was sure she’d recognize the wide courtyard and reek of sulfur. The Jian Mountain Penitentiary was not equipped to hold firebenders, and New Ozai Penal Colony required prisoners to work in the mines. She supposed she’d have time to ascertain her location once she escaped. Stumbling through the infirmary door, she growled as the guards gave her a rough shove.

“Sit down,” one man barked, gesturing to the metal cot under the window, “And no funny business.”

Azula scoffed. “Aren’t you going to unchain me?”

With a grimace, the man produced a key and did as he was told.

The guards retreated to the door, posting themselves in the hallway. A short, round-eyed man stepped into the room, bringing with him the pungent smell of herbs. His robes were covered by a clean apron.

“You must be the healer,” Azula drawled, holding out her arm. “Well, make it quick.”

He frowned deeply, fishing a pair of spectacles from his pocket. “Let me find some salve.”

As he rummaged through the cabinets, Azula stole a glance at the window. As she remembered, it was unbarred, and just big enough for her to wriggle through. She would need a distraction, as the guards still watched from the open door, hands on their weapons. Scanning her surroundings, Azula caught sight of a dusty tapestry in the hallway, hanging just behind the guards. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she sent a spark over the guards’ heads, escaping their notice. The flames began to eat a tiny hole in the fabric, and the air grew hazy with smoke. Noticing the small blaze, the guards pivoted, exclaiming in confusion. Azula seized her chance.

Springing up, she slammed the door shut, dragging the cot over as a barricade. The healer stared at her in silent horror, and she barked at him to hit the ground, sending a shower of sparks in his direction. With a grim smile, Azula snatched up the heavy jar of salve and threw it at the windowpane. It shattered spectacularly, and she sprang upwards, fingertips catching the sill.

The door rattled, and the shouts of the guards filled the room. Heart pounding, Azula pulled herself up to crouch on the windowsill, brushing away the remaining glass. The ground was discouragingly far away, but there was no room for cowardice. Between the walls of the prison and the trees, there was a narrow stretch of dirt. Leaning forward, she felt the wind brush her cheeks and fan her hair over her face. The din behind the door continued, and there was a loud crack as the nails of the doorframe came loose. A fist bashed through the wooden door, and Azula knew that the time to hesitate was over.

Letting her hands fall to her sides, she fell into the empty air. The ground rushed to meet her, and she steeled herself, bending her knees as soon as she landed. She tucked into a roll, feeling her bones shudder at the impact. A high wooden wall encircled the prison, and as she staggered to her feet, she blasted the structure with fire. It collapsed to embers in seconds.

The pain in her legs was greater with every step, but it didn’t matter. She was Princess Azula, one-time Fire Lord and the most powerful bender in generations. This sad little prison couldn’t hold her for long.

The flames were spreading inward from the wall, scorching the weathered stone building and threatening the wooden shingles on the roof. Chuckling to herself, she paused for a moment to watch the plumes of black smoke float skyward. The sight was cathartic, and she wrote it into her memory.

From inside the smoldering wall came the sound of marching feet. Azula ran for cover, ducking into the shadows of the forest. She was almost certain her left leg was broken, but the dense woods kept her from running anyway. The air was cooler than in the Fire Nation, and the treetops had a slight yellow glow. A thick carpet of leaves crunched underfoot, and brambles tore at her tunic. Despite the temperature, a sheen of sweat covered her face. The footsteps came closer, and she picked up her pace, incinerating a copse of trees behind her for good measure. The heat against her back was familiar, and the cries of the pursuing soldiers brought a smirk to her lips.

This was almost too easy.

* * *

Zuko frowned down at the jumble of scrolls on his desk, squinting in the candlelight. He’d been stacking and unstacking them for the past hour, constructing sharp pyramids and squat cabins from the mountain of paper. A servant boy had presented them to him just after breakfast, mumbling something about clemency requests or popular petitions. He’d accepted the missives – he’d had to – but unfurling the first scroll and beginning to read was a soul-crushing idea. Instead, he drummed his fingers against the smooth onyx tabletop and groaned.

Ruling as firelord was even more of a challenge than he had anticipated. The country was a mess, and without Ozai’s iron fist to keep the Colonies in line, small rebellions were breaking out in every corner of the empire. Zuko’s first instinct was simply to let them play out – after all, the Fire Nation hadn’t exactly taken the Colonies fairly – and withdraw his troops. To make things worse, his own council of advisors was becoming harder to manage. General Ban Zi was insisting that Zuko appoint his son Ban Ai minister of the royal treasury, and the noble families were backing him. The fact that Ban Ai was three years old didn’t matter, apparently – he was of good blood, and Ban Ji could act as regent until he came of age.

More concerning than the court intrigues were the popular calls to have his sister executed. Even after Ozai’s sentence was passed, the people continued baying for blood. He still felt a lingering nausea when he thought about what he’d done to Ozai, but the weakness in his right eye was reminder enough of the man his father had been. _It had been right_ , he told himself firmly. _Ozai was a monster_.

Brushing a hand over his ratty topknot, Zuko remembered the day of his father’s execution. Zuko had insisted on hanging, a more humane and dignified death than the customary pyre. The sentence had been passed in private, and Zuko hadn’t attended. Instead, he’d spent the day in bed with a raging headache, wallowing in exhaustion and self-pity.

Staring at the ceiling, his thoughts flashed back to Azula. Despite the pressure from his council, his ministers, and the various noble houses, nothing would make him order his sister’s death. She had grown into something dark and twisted, but she was still a year away from legal adulthood. Zuko had spent his fifteenth year traipsing around the Earth Kingdom with Uncle Iroh, seething with rage and determined to restore his honor at any cost. Zuko wondered if Azula was feeling just as lost, stripped of everything but her breath, chained up like an animal in some freezing cell.

He couldn’t imagine Azula feeling lost.

Straightening his chin, he summoned all his willpower and opened the first scroll. As the young servant had reported, it was a plea for clemency for a minor lord convicted of skimming the proceeds of municipal wheat harvests. Settling against his elbow, Zuko picked up his signet and began to skim the letter.


	3. Try, Try, Try

Azula climbed to the top of a low hill, placing her bare feet carefully in the mud. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the air was growing colder. She had been walking for most of the day, and the shouts of the pursuing soldiers had faded to nothing. Observing the long shadows beneath the trees, Azula ascertained that she was heading west. By process of elimination, she’d deduced that she was in the Hu Xin Provinces. Within a day or so, she’d reach the coast. After that, commandeering a small vessel and sailing home would be a simple matter.

At some point during her weeks of captivity, it had occurred to her that she could challenge Zuko for the throne. But humiliated by her stumble in the Agni Kai – no, she would not call it a defeat, given that the little water peasant had broken the rules by interfering – and alone in the world, she would need to plan her moves carefully. The nation had likely already coalesced behind Zuko. Azula remembered the days after her grandfather’s death, and how eager the noble houses had seemed to cast their lots behind Ozai. In the Fire Nation, might made right, and nothing was despised more than weakness. Azula would need to strike from a place of strength, and for that, she would need allies.

Reaching the crest of the hill, Azula stumbled a little. Her injured leg had gone numb, and there was an ominous looking bump forming on her shin. Her steps were stilted and unsteady, and black specks floated before her eyes. Sleep would be a risk, but probably one worth taking.

A large tree rose up ahead, half-covered by creeping vines and moss. The roots arched up to form a small hollow, nearly invisible behind the heavy underbrush. Azula grimaced and dropped to her knees, poking her head inside. The space was empty and full of spiderwebs and mold. No matter. She’d stayed in worse places, and the hollow would make a good hiding spot.

Crawling inside, Azula lifted her fingers, summoning a flame. The light revealed a low ceiling, with just enough room to sit up straight. Leaning back against the trunk of the tree, she forced her eyes to stay open, peering down at her leg. Gingerly tapping the bump near her knee, she felt the jagged edges of the splintered bone. There was little pain, which indicated nerve damage. Spirits knew how much damage she’d done by walking on it all day, but she hadn’t had a choice.

Tearing a strip from the edge of her tunic, Azula grabbed a nearby stick and measured it against her leg. Snapping off stray twigs until she was satisfied, she bound it to her leg with the cloth. The splint was primitive, but it would have to do.

Stretching out on the muddy ground, Azula listened for any sign of her pursuers. There was only the wind. Closing her eyes, she finally allowed herself to sleep.

* * *

Sometime during his long exile, Zuko had taken to sleeping with one arm tucked under his head, cushioned against the cold ground. Even now, cocooned in red silk sheets and lying on a cozy nest of down pillows, he found himself dozing off with his cheek tucked into his elbow. There was no one to see him but servants, after all, and he was the Firelord. No one would dare critique his sleeping habits.

Not that he hadn’t had to concede a few things. He’d initially refused to move into the royal chambers that had once belonged to his father. They were chilly and intimidating, and he swore he felt Ozai’s spirit there, seething and malicious. But an advisor had quietly pulled him aside and suggested he relocate – no need to bolster the rumor that he was unprepared to take Ozai’s place – and Zuko had relented, with a caveat. He’d asked that the chambers be redecorated, and this request had bought him a few weeks. But now, sleeping in the room his father once occupied, Zuko felt uneasy and small.

Zuko thought his posture was what Uncle Iroh might call a coping mechanism; a small thing one does to feel more secure in uncomfortable situations. He missed Uncle bitterly. The old man had been dispatched to New Ozai a fortnight ago to address the island’s recent bid for independence. The situation had needed Iroh’s calm presence and steady hand. His friends, too, had taken their leave, though they promised they’d return to Caldera regularly. The truth was, Zuko was lonely.

Staring up at the gold-embroidered canopy, Zuko was startled to hear the door creak open.

Sitting up quickly, he lit the lamps with a flick of his fingers. A servant girl knelt in the doorway, half-bathed in shadows.

“A thousand apologies, my lord…”

“What is it, Yingai?” Zuko asked, recognizing the girl’s freckled nose.

She straightened up. “An urgent message has arrived. If it would please my lord, the messenger awaits in the drawing room.”

Zuko nodded wearily. “I’ll see him.”

Yingai bowed and skittered off, and Zuko stepped wearily into his slippers. Without waiting for a servant to help him dress, he pulled a robe from the heavy gilt wardrobe and tied it over his sleeping shirt. Stepping into the hall, he found two servants waiting.

It was a short walk to Zuko’s own drawing room, and he heard the click of his wooden slippers against the floor. A servant held a gas lamp aloft, casting flickering shadows over the tapestried walls. As the pair drew open the doors and welcomed Zuko with a bow, he stifled a yawn and straightened his posture.

The messenger was a soldier, dressed in the deep red of the 38th Division. His brown hair was pulled into a tight topknot, and light wrinkles appeared at the edges of his eyes. He bowed low, dropping his gaze respectfully.

“Lord Zuko, long may you reign--”

Zuko cut off the customary greeting with a wave. “At ease, soldier. What brings you here so late?”

He flushed slightly. “Apologies, my lord. I was dispatched from the Hu Xin garrison this morning. My message is too sensitive to trust to a messenger hawk.”

“And your message is?” Zuko asked, feeling a prickle at the back of his neck.

“The Princess Azula has escaped, my lord.”

Zuko stumbled back. The room spun around him, shining gold panels and lush scarlet carpets. He took a steadying breath.

“When? How?”

“This morning, Lord Zuko. She feigned an injury and jumped from the infirmary window. The prison sent guards after her, but she set them on fire. The 38th was dispatched to aid in the search.”

Zuko couldn’t suppress a frustrated shout. Azula had miscalculated badly. He’d barely gotten away with keeping her alive, and once she was found, he didn’t know if he could withstand the pressure to have her head.

Dropping onto a cushion, he massaged his temples. “Prepare the war balloon. We’ll leave for Hu Xin at once.”

* * *

When Azula stepped into the throne room, Ozai was hidden by a curtain of golden flames. The air smelled of smoke, and as she dropped to her knees, she felt the heat of the tiled floor. Bending elegantly forward, she touched her forehead to the ground, waiting for her father to acknowledge her presence.

He cleared his throat. “You may rise, Azula.”

She straightened. The flames had died down a little, casting flickering shadows over Ozai’s hulking figure. He’d summoned her in the middle of the night, and she’d hurriedly dressed in her most impressive armor and pulled her hair into a tight knot. A little shiver of fear ran between her shoulderblades, but she ignored it, posture perfect and still.

“You summoned me, father?”

He chuckled deep in his throat, staring down at her from the dais. She knew better than to speak out of turn, and she simply waited for him to verbalize what he wanted. Finally, he waved a hand.

“Your brother tells me you deceived me, Azula.”

She tugged down the sleeves of her robe to hide her shaking hands. “I would do no such thing.”

He grinned, flashing sharp white teeth. She had a sudden vision of Ozai tearing out her throat, spraying blood over the polished floor. Still, she wouldn’t snivel and weep. She wasn’t Zuko.

“You told me your brother slew the Avatar--”

“—The Avatar is dead. What does it matter who killed him?”

“Do _not_ interrupt me!” The flames roared higher, and Azula clamped her mouth shut.

“I expect truth from you at all times,” he continued, creating a gap in the curtain of fire with a flick of his wrist. He stepped off the dais and approached Azula, long robes dragging behind him.

She met his eyes, careful to keep the creeping dread from her face.

Ozai stopped just in front of her, and his shadow loomed large. He reached out, and she kept still. His hand went to her cheek, and she felt the rough heat of his palm. She knew what this was, but she would not beg. She’d need only endure a few seconds of pain before her nerve endings deadened. She remembered how quickly Zuko had stopped screaming after the Agni Kai, and she prepared to count the seconds in her head.

The pressure against her cheek disappeared as Ozai withdrew his hand. “Good girl,” he said with a grudging nod. “You are not a weakling like your brother.”

She closed her eyes momentarily, savoring the faint praise.

“Now, see that you do not fail me again. You have reached the limits of my mercy.”

She nodded stiffly and once again pressed her forehead to the floor. “As you command.”

* * *

Squinting through the rain, Azula found herself at the edge of a steep gorge. She’d shed her tunic, and she held it over her head like a hood, keeping the worst of the downpour from her face. Her undershirt was thin silk, but Azula wasn’t cold. Her face was curiously warm, and her hands shook as she gripped the sodden fabric. Her fractured leg burned under the makeshift bandages, and she suspected that infection was setting in. She remembered her soldiers speaking of an herb that could stop infection in a pinch. In the Earth Kingdom, they called it _baoshi_ , and it grew in low, damp places. Keeping her eye on the ground, she searched for dark, pointed leaves and trailing vines.

The incline was steep, and she stumbled forward, shaking rain from her hair. The bottom of the ravine was shrouded in mist, and branches creaked and snapped over her head. Azula gritted her teeth and walked faster.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of palms press her shoulders. She stumbled back, losing her footing in the mud. Letting the tunic drop, she raised a hand automatically, bringing forth a narrow column of flame. Scanning her surroundings, she found nothing but mud and dripping trees.

“Azula?” A familiar singsong voice drifted from the mist.

“Not you again,” Azula spat, dropping her arm. She’d tried burning the apparition before, but it had done no good. Better to conserve her energy.

Resolving to ignore the hallucination, she struggled to her feet.

“…No. Rest, Azula. You are hurt.” Ursa’s voice was saccharine.

“I’m afraid I cannot, mother. Your son threw me in prison, and--”

“—No, Azula. Your own choices sent you there.”

She stood up straight and defiant, ignoring the stabbing pain in her shin. “You think I had choices, mother?”

“Of course. Zuko found his way. Nothing prevents you from doing the same.”

Ursa spoke Zuko’s name with a certain tenderness, and it cut Azula to the quick. “I’m bored. Leave me.”

“As you wish.” The voice died away, and Azula slumped to the ground, reaching for her discarded tunic. Rivulets of water ran down her cheeks, and her clothes were drenched and heavy. She’d thought a good night of sleep would banish her hallucinations, but like a spider-mouse scuttling about in the dark, her mother lurked in the corners of her mind.

Suddenly cold, she pulled the shirt over her head, giving up on staying dry. She’d done a poor job of cutting her hair on coronation day, and the uneven strands stuck to the back of her neck. Her golden hairpiece was long gone, and she had nothing with which to fasten her topknot.

Something about the sensation enraged her, and she gathered her hair roughly, wringing it out over the ground. She remembered how the scissors had felt in her hand, the cold of the blade against her skin. It had been a catharsis, of sorts, and she took a deep breath, centering her chi.

She waved her fingers lightly, and there was the sudden reek of smoke. A lesser firebenders would’ve burned skin along with hair, but Azula’s control was perfect. It only took a moment for her topknot to burn to nothing, and then she was sitting on the ground, charred clumps scattered around her.

“What do you think of my hair now, mother?” She called out haughtily. The hiss of rain was her only response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I find the idea of post-canon Azula cutting her hair to spite her mother very compelling, so I decided to add it to the fic. I also had a lot of fun writing Zuko in this chapter. Feel free to share your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multipart story focusing on Azula and Zuko after the events of the finale. I know the "Azula redemption fic" has been done to death, but I'm just writing for fun. Feel free to share your thoughts in a review!


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